In the quiet hour where heartbeats slow,
And morning sun curls in silver air,
I walk the rooms of thoughts I know
Their shadows soft, reflections high and their voices bare.
Despair, my dark and patient muse,
You stroke the edges of my soul;
A bruised-blue flame I did not choose,
Yet warm beneath your long control.
High Res File attached
Authors notes: My brains so foggy, the ear infection is lingering. it's not really painful anymore but I can't hear and my head feels full but also silent
Andrew Kaufman
2025-12-05 20:00:23 +0000 UTCThe Internet Witch
2025-12-05 19:43:14 +0000 UTCCheshire106
2025-12-05 19:26:32 +0000 UTC